Shara LaFave
Michigan

Q: Tell us about your agricultural operation, your background, and how you got started in agriculture.

I’ve been farming a little over ten years, but the roots of my story go all the way back to my childhood in St. Lucia. I grew up following my grand uncle, Gabriel Charles, who was a forester and environmentalist. As a kid, I spent countless days trekking through the rainforest with him, learning to read the land, pay attention to water, and think about systems that help nature thrive instead of working against it.

I originally wanted to be an environmentalist, but my mom—seeing I was good at math—pushed me toward business. She didn’t see a stable future in environmental work, so I went to business school, got my MBA, and built what most people would call a successful career in finance. I worked as a trader, investment banker, private wealth manager, and eventually as a regional manager for a major bank.

From the outside, it looked like I “made it.” On the inside, I was deeply unhappy. The culture, the hard line sales mentality—it just didn’t fit who I was. I felt like I hadn’t found my place yet.

Everything changed at the Ohio State Fair. I met a woman there who was raising Berkshire pigs organically, by herself. I had never seen a woman manage such big animals alone. She introduced me to the organic movement, and something clicked. For the first time, I could see a version of myself in agriculture. I left my job, started doing work-studies on farms, and in 2016 started my first farm.

Today, I operate a small livestock and mushroom farm in rural Michigan. I raise pigs on pasture using organic and regenerative principles and am rebuilding my mushroom operation. I’m also the only registered Black-owned livestock farm and the only Black woman-owned livestock farm in the state of Michigan. I still work an off-farm job with the State of Michigan to make ends meet, but the farm is the center of my purpose and my future.

Q: What does working in agriculture, and specifically being a woman in agriculture, mean to you?

For me, working in agriculture feels like finally coming home. When I left finance and started farming, it was like something inside my soul settled. I often say farming is like a marriage: there are good days and bad days, but you choose to keep loving it, even when it’s hard. That’s what farming is for me—it’s the thing I love enough to fight for, even when it breaks my heart.

Being a woman in agriculture, especially a Black woman in livestock, in a rural, mostly white community adds another layer. When I started farming in Michigan, I was the only Black woman livestock farmer around. It hasn’t been easy. I’ve dealt with racism, isolation, and being reported to animal control and the police multiple times despite doing nothing wrong. I’ve also faced gender-based harassment, including a stalker at the farmers market that forced me to stop vending there.

But I stay in farming and in my community because representation matters. I still remember that woman at the Ohio State Fair handling those pigs by herself. That one moment of seeing a woman in that role changed my life. Now, when a little Black girl comes to my booth and says, “When I grow up, I want to be a farmer like you,” that means more to me than any award.

The International Year of the Woman Farmer feels important because so many of us do this work quietly, often fighting multiple systems at once—racism, sexism, under investment in small and organic farms. Being recognized on a global scale makes me feel seen, and it sends a message to women and girls everywhere: your work, your story, your presence on the land matters.

Q: What do you wish the next generation of women in agriculture would know about your work? What advice would you give them?

I want the next generation of women, especially Black girls and women of color to know that this work is hard, but it’s also deeply beautiful and powerful.

There have been times when I lost almost everything. I trusted the wrong person, lost my house, my savings, and the equity I had built. My children and I experienced homelessness for over two years. We bounced between farms and temporary housing, moving our animals around ten times, rebuilding fencing over and over, all while I was working full-time and caring for a son with severe autism. There were days I woke up at 3 a.m. to do chores with my kids asleep in the back seat, then took them to school and showered at a truck stop before going to work.

If I didn’t truly love farming, I would have walked away. But I didn’t, and I won’t, because this is my purpose.

My advice to the next generation is:

  • Be brave and be bold. Don’t let people’s ideas about what women can or can’t do decide your When I started, I could barely lift one five-gallon bucket. Now I can carry two full ones without thinking about it. You grow into the work.
  • Don’t wait for someone else to build you a seat at the If there’s no table for you, build your own. My table has been broken down more than once, but I keep rebuilding it—not just for me, but for the women who will come after me and need a place to sit.
  • Remember that representation is a form of resistance. Every time you step into a space where people say you don’t belong, you make it easier for the next woman to imagine herself You never know who is looking at you and thinking, “If she can do it, maybe I can too.”

Q: Have you had access to formal education or informal training programs to help you grow your operation?

My path into agriculture is a mix of formal education and very informal, lived training.

Formally, I have an MBA and a strong background in finance. While that might sound disconnected from farming, it has been crucial. It helped me navigate credit, understand leverage, and problem-solve my way out of some very difficult situations, like rebuilding after losing my home and savings.

Informally, my biggest “teachers” have been:

  • The organic farming community: When I entered the organic movement, many farmers who came from legacy farming families took me under their wing. They shared knowledge that others grow up with but that I had to learn from scratch—everything from animal husbandry to rotational grazing to soil health.
  • The Amish community near my farm: They have taught me countless practical skills, from infrastructure to day-to-day management, and have been an important source of
  • Michigan State University partnerships: I’ve been involved in a think tank through MSU’s Center for Regional Food Systems, where a small cohort of us are researching and advocating around the state of Black farmers in I’m also a mentor in the Transition to Organic Program, helping other farmers move into organic systems.
  • The MSU African Alliance program: For several years, I’ve hosted cohorts of African farmers on my farm for 4–6 week stays. They come to learn more about organic and regenerative practices, and we stay connected as they adapt those practices back home. Teaching has deepened my own learning and reminded me how powerful shared knowledge can be.

I see myself as a lifelong learner. Whether it’s learning from elders, from my peers, or from newer farmers with fresh ideas, I’m always looking for ways to improve the farm and make it more viable and sustainable.

Q: What would make it easier for women in agriculture to access the capital they need?

Honestly, my experience with capital access has been very difficult, especially as a Black, organic livestock farmer who lost much of her collateral in a crisis.

When my former partner sold off equipment and assets we had used as collateral, I reached out to USDA’s Farm Service Agency (FSA) for help and was told there was nothing they could do.I later learned this wasn’t entirely true. When I tried to rebuild my current place, I was told I didn’t have enough collateral left for them to support me.

At the same time, many conservation and infrastructure programs are designed in ways that favor large, conventional operations over small, regenerative ones. For example, there is support for waste lagoons for large CAFO hog operations, but not for basic fencing to allow small organic farmers like me to rotationally graze pigs in a way that protects soil and water. That is directly at odds with stated environmental goals and with the International Year of the Woman Farmer’s priority of increasing women’s access to technology and markets.

To make capital more accessible to women in agriculture—especially Black women and other women of color—we need:

  • Programs that recognize small-scale, regenerative, and organic systems as worthy of investment, not as an That includes funding fencing and infrastructure for rotational grazing as seriously as we fund large-scale confinement systems.
  • Risk assessments and underwriting that account for systemic inequities. When you’ve already faced financial abuse, discrimination, or generational underinvestment, your balance sheet will look different. That shouldn’t automatically disqualify you.
  • Technical assistance that is proactive, not Women often need more support navigating complex applications and rules—not judgment or dismissal.
  • Intentional outreach to Black farmers and other historically excluded communities. Too often, we only find out what’s available after the fact, or we’re the last to learn about opportunities.

In short, capital access has to be redesigned with our realities in mind, not just scaled down from models built for Big Ag.

Q: What technologies or innovations have made the biggest difference on your farm? How do you stay informed about best practices, weather, markets, or new technologies?

On my farm, “technology” is as much about design and systems as it is about gadgets.

For my pigs, I’m working toward a rotational grid system inspired by Temple Grandin’s low-stress designs. Thoughtful paddock layout, good fencing, and careful planning help me:

  • Reduce stress on the animals;
  • Protect and rebuild the soil;
  • Manage manure and runoff responsibly; and
  • Restore land that has been degraded by conventional row

In my mushroom operation, most of the innovation has been in infrastructure—building out the right growing and handling systems slowly, piece by piece, as I can afford it.

To stay informed, I:

  • Stay connected to other organic and regenerative farmers in my region;
  • Partner and share knowledge with MSU programs even as I push for those relationships to be less extractive;
  • Learn from the Amish community and from the African farmers who come through the mentoring program; and
  • Pay close attention to my own land—watching water movement, soil response, animal behavior, and making adjustments over time.

It’s not flashy, but for me, innovation is about building systems that work for the land, the animals, my family, and my community.

Q: Describe a specific challenge you faced and how you overcame it.

It’s hard to choose just one, because my farming journey has been full of challenges. But the period when my children and I lost our home and my first farm stands out.

I had sold my house in Ohio and invested my life savings to start a farm with someone I thought I could trust. It turned out he was scamming me. Within about a year and a half, I lost everything—my savings, my equity, and eventually the farm itself. My children and I were left with almost nothing and spent more than two years experiencing homelessness and housing insecurity.

During that time:

  • We moved our animals roughly ten times between different farms and
  • My daughter’s FFA program took in some of our livestock so we could keep them safe and continue her involvement.
  • We lived in domestic violence shelters and temporary housing, and my kids went through incredibly hard emotional and mental health struggles.
  • I continued working full time, caring for my son with severe autism, and doing farm chores at impossible hours just to keep the dream alive.

At one point, a landlord we were renting from was committing financial and insurance fraud. Because of my finance background, I recognized it and put my objections in writing. They terminated our lease—but just as we were on the brink of being put out on the street during COVID, Michigan’s eviction moratorium kept us housed for a little longer.

In that window, a house came on the market that I could just barely afford. My realtor and I were inside it less than half an hour after it was listed. I put in an offer at asking price within the hour and the seller accepted immediately. The next day, he had sixteen more offers, but our contract held. We closed only days before the eviction moratorium ended.

After that, a neighbor helped me connect with the owner of the land across the road, and I was able to lease about 30 acres—right across from my house. That allowed me to rebuild infrastructure, regain my organic certification (which I’d had to surrender while we were moving constantly), and re-establish the farm.

It wasn’t a neat or easy process. Along the way, there were robberies, harassment, and more setbacks. But community support—from my church, from Amish neighbors, from other farmers—combined with sheer stubbornness got us through.

When I look back, what I see is not just hardship, but proof that I can survive almost anything and still choose farming. That’s part of why the International Year of the Woman Farmer means so much to me: it’s a chance to show the fullness of what women farmers carry and overcome.

Q: Has your State Department of Agriculture helped you advance your operation? How?

My relationship with agricultural institutions has been complex.

On one hand, I work for the State of Michigan and partner frequently with Michigan State University, including through a think tank on the state of Black farmers in Michigan, now supported by the Kellogg Foundation, the Transition to Organic Program, and the African Alliance program, where I host cohorts of African farmers.

These partnerships have created opportunities for learning, leadership, and advocacy, and they’ve given me a platform to speak about what Black farmers and organic farmers are facing in Michigan.

On the other hand, when it comes to direct financial support, infrastructure, and program design, I have often felt shut out—especially by federal programs like FSA and NRCS, which still tend to favor large, conventional operations.

So my honest answer is: state and university partners have helped create spaces for research, mentoring, and conversation, but there is still a long way to go before women like me—Black, organic, small-scale, and livestock-focused—are fully supported in accessing land, capital, and the tools we need to thrive.

My hope for the International Year of the Woman Farmer is that it pushes these institutions to move beyond stories and visibility into real, structural change that makes our lives on the land more secure.